Gabriella/History
}} History Bliss was just another word for the sheltered lifestyle inside her home among her kin, the Iortari. When Gabriella was a child, she only recalled kindness even in the discipline throughout sweat inducing training sessions in aiming. The young girl shared a hut with her father, a hunter of high rank within their middle, while her mother was a known traveler and head of Atlah, an organization serving the battle against slavery and injustice. Skilled in young age, the proud daughter accompanied the tribe on missions to secure food, one of which led to her safety on a day the sky turned red. They had heard the heavy machinery approach from miles away as it flattened trees beneath metal tires, uprooting plants along its soil. Thick steam burned in lungs as the warriors stormed into the forest, the taste of smoke laying heavy on Gabriella’s tongue as her father ordered her to hide inside the remains of a tree stump. The screams echoed through the jungle, metal pipes screeching their war cries. Father had called them Almarians. They sought rare metals that laid beneath their land, he had said, and while they had left peacefully the first time around, they had returned riding terrifying creatures that were cold without a sign of life inside their chest. Stay, the girl reminded herself, the anxiety in her chest tearing her from inside out. Minutes passed, growing into hours, the air around her clouding, forcing her from her hiding spot like a prey animal. Where would she go, if not to stand by her tribe? Over coals and broken branches she ran, feathers igniting from flying sparks, until Gabriella found her home. Around her laid shapes and figures of neighbors and families, motionless and disfigured from pulled feathers. The child, terrified, sought for her father, her comrades, until spotting her home combusting in scorching flames. Her instinct caused her to rush towards what once meant safety, but spurts of fire drew her back, causing her to stumble. Disoriented inside smoke and flames, Gabriella sunk to her knees. There was no escape, no help, her father nowhere in sight. In fear, the girl wrapped her feathers around herself protectively as she prayed to be rescued, the sounds of machines faintly roaring in the background. Nothing remained that day, but a child with crimson running from her feathers; a child that had never known cruelty, but soon realized that greed triumphed in a world forsaken of compassion. Through the action of one general, one regime, one order, Iortari was wiped out. Innocent lives inevitably traded for rare ore. But none would ever know the cost of Almaria’s greed, as none would live to speak the truth. Or so she thought. Although she lost her tribe and father, the attack of their homeland reached Atlah in the far lands of Losandthel, a land which promised of sanctuary for tribes such as Gabriella’s. Too late to save their kin, but just in time to retrieve her daughter, the girl’s mother returned to the fields of war and fled with her to the new empire, where she recovered in health with the help of those who followed her mother, a woman she hardly knew but had heard glorious stories of. She remembered her well, with an eye shimmering like the gold of the sun. And as she raised her daughter lovingly to heal her from the bloodshed she had witnessed, she told her:”One day you too will see the world through gold. It is a gift from mother to child, a promise for happiness not all perceive at first. But you, my love, will lead them.” Gabriella was fortunate to have her mother by her side, yet what began as unshaken love for their homeland quickly blossomed into shattering torture for the girl who had found serenity inside her parent’s embrace. It was unfortunate timing for the pair as their return to Rosario collided with an outbreak of illness inside the region, which would claim many lives in not less than a years time. Unaware, the now eleven year old Iortari and her mother boarded a ship, which they hoped would return them to the now claimed Rosarian lands. They had only meant to visit before returning to their people. And yet, not one night passed before fatigue and nausea plagued the woman responsible for both of their safe travels overseas. When Gabriella’s mother fell ill, both suspected it to be a flu at most. But as cycles passed and blood drew from sore skin, days meant for happiness broke with tears and bodies trembled with fear. The young girl tended to her mother’s wounds, yet improvement was scarce, and every night, when she placed her palm against her daughter’s face, more red stained pale skin. On the final night, weakened with every breath and with land still out of sight, the woman who had survived the fray alongside her people, guiding many towards their personal paradise, finally found herself unable to protect what was most dear to her. “My dearly beloved,” she spoke to her daughter, whose tears dripped onto her chest as her lips brushed lovingly against her red feathers. “I can’t ask you to continue what I’ve started. But know, no matter what you decide to do, I want you to live. Live inside the world I built for you.” It hurt to speak that night. The stinging ache inside her chest would walk alongside the orphan as the bridge lowered onto sandy foundations of Rosario not a day later. The last safety she had known was erased from the world. And her chest felt like it was tearing apart. Careful digits reached forward as they brushed against wet stone encasing her in a cell. Hazy vision searched for Baron, her loyal familiar, who circled Gabriella as she lifted herself against the freezing surface, the burning sensation of frost mixing with hot blood running across ice beneath her. It was drawn from remains of her leg, which laid crushed next to her other, stinging with sharp pain that forced tears into the female’s eyes. The end was drawing near, exhaustion weighing on her like an anvil. Nineteen years, defeated by a monstrosity built by men, the machine rendering her incapable of escaping. Here she was, declared criminal for freeing innocent people from cruel dictators. What a joke. All she could do was to close her eyes, accept death and hope aether had mercy on her...And yet... “I want you to live.” Pain flooded exhausted veins as memories of her mother rung to her mind. In total isolation she had survived this long, living on scraps and poor hygiene. But for whom, for what, if only herself? Gabriella was tired. Every muscle inside her body ached. And yet despite little optimism for a future, her arm raised, holding onto a feather of her hair, then gripped another until her palm was filled. “Baron, your aether.” she pleaded as her breath escaped her chest, fingers letting loose the plumes she had held, her magic drawing them into the wall, one by one hitting against the porous surface until repeated collision revealed a path of escape. But she could not walk. And for the Iortari, any further loss of blood would threaten unconsciousness. Minutes felt like hours as she hoped to collect strength to run, and somehow, in her drifting state of mind, a warmth embraced her, a soothing touch eradicating pain. Lights flickered through the passing treetops, unfamiliar scents dancing in the air, little details pushing through Gabriella’s fading consciousness. Had she died? Had she inevitably failed her mother? “Ah, good, you’re awake.” Panicked eyes sprung open, staring into the face of a stranger, who hovered a blood-soaked cloth above the woman, as she laid inside a bed equipped with generous amounts of fur. Her first instinct was escaping, until a sharp pain reminded her that she would never run again. Past her kneecap was nothing but a bloodied bandage. Gone. Might as well kill her now, she thought. “Rest.” the medic soothed, a smile on her face. Who were they? Who had saved her? And where was she? As her eyes wandered the tent, many more faces sprung into the image, different species, different genders, all with eyes on the young woman, as if she were an animal inside a zoo. And yet, they showed no hostility. Instead, they bowed, bowed their heads before Gabriella, who couldn’t fathom reason. “Welcome to Atlah. Welcome home.” Ten years had passed. Ten years of misery and fighting alone. As Gabriella realized who stood before her, tears built inside the golden eye that reflected the lights of the candles surrounding her. “We could not hope for a better leader than someone with a reputation as honorable as yours. May you lead us to victory.” the medic spoke and there was no doubt: Gabriella would follow into the footsteps of her mother, honoring the legacy she left behind when she gifted the sunlike shimmer to her daughter, alongside the brothers and sisters she had remembered only through stories. And while it meant little to her to be identified by the color of her eye, she knew, without a doubt, that justice awaited Almaria for their sins. At that moment, she could feel the fire of a hundred dragons rage inside her chest. Plot References }} Category:Subpages Category:Histories